


seduction in green (lace and lamplight)

by lemon_verbena



Series: the green lace collection [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: (very light), Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time Together, Hotel Sex, I'll Walk Beside You: A Cormoran Strike Fic Exchange, Light Femdom, Lingerie, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Seduction, Smut, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-31 23:58:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20248783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_verbena/pseuds/lemon_verbena
Summary: “I—” Cormoran coughs, needing to clear his throat. “I take it this is a seduction?”“Yes,” Robin says, standing still, mere feet away from him. “That was the general sort of idea.”“And why—”why me, why now, why green lace, how did you know—





	seduction in green (lace and lamplight)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonlight_swicts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlight_swicts/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [moonlight_swicts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlight_swicts/pseuds/moonlight_swicts) in the [StrikeFicExchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/StrikeFicExchange) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> _Tired of waiting, Robin takes the first move and seduces Cormoran. Sexy lingerie included._
> 
> I hope this is satisfactory, dear moonlight! I had half of an idea nagging at me, and your prompt gave me the much-needed focus to finish it, so I'm very grateful.
> 
> Etsy links to the lingerie I mention (NSFW, though hardly explicit): [bra/color inspiration](https://www.etsy.com/listing/613907698/emerald-green-lingerie-set-lace-lingerie) and [panties/set inspiration.](https://www.etsy.com/listing/569193442/blue-bikini-lace-undies-sexy-womens) Relevant images from both listings are used in the graphic below. The graphic is also posted on my tumblr, if you'd like to share this fic.
> 
> This is a one-shot with very little plot, mostly smut with a running undercurrent of feelings. I hope you enjoy!

“Robin,” Cormoran says, voice strangled, “what— what are you doing?”

She undoes another button on her shirt, baring the tops of her breasts now, the lovely swell of them covered by the edges of a lace bra— it’s green, Cormoran notices with some corner of his mind, she’s wearing dark green lace— 

“I should think it would be obvious,” Robin replies, and the next button she undoes causes more of the green lace to appear, and Cormoran can hardly remember what he said that Robin’s replying to, because she is taking off her shirt, right here in his hotel room. 

“Obvious?” he repeats, as the buttons continue to part, revealing more of Robin’s smooth creamy skin, more of the green lace, the shadow of her pink nipples just visible— 

“For a man of your intellect, you’re doing a surprisingly poor job of comprehending the situation,” Robin says, her fingers parting the hem of the shirt now, and she is looking at him, her blue-grey eyes nearly glowing in the light of the cheap lamp.

Cormoran takes a moment too long to tear his eyes from her bared torso, managing finally to look up at Robin’s face, and is surprised to see that she is— nervous? Unsure? She sounds so confident, and yet— 

“I—” Cormoran coughs, needing to clear his throat. “I take it this is a seduction?”

“Yes,” Robin says, standing still, mere feet away from him. “That was the general sort of idea.”

“And why—” _why me, why now, why green lace, how did you know—_

“Because,” Robin says, her chin up, gaze clear and fixed on his. “It’s been unbearable, these past few months. I can see the way you look at me, you know. I’m aware of how you talk to me. I’m present for it, Cormoran, you can’t have thought I didn’t know.”

But somehow, he had, he’d convinced himself that he was getting away with hiding his growing— _crush_ sounds so juvenile, but _obsession_ sounds as though he’s got a desire to wear her skin— 

“And then I realized, you couldn’t tell that I—” she glances away, over his shoulder, and she is nervous, as nervous as he, perhaps, if not as surprised. “That I want— you. Too.”

“You…” Cormoran’s mouth is drier than the Sahara. He licks his lips, trying to wrap his mind around the many things happening simultaneously, not the least of which is his awareness of the blush that is creeping along the tops of Robin’s lovely, lovely breasts. 

“Yes,” Robin says, firmly, while biting her lip. “And I realized you were never going to do anything.”

“No,” Cormoran agrees, wondering if he might be allowed to push down the lace to see how far down her blush goes. 

“So I thought— _I_ had better do something.”

Robin is standing in front of him, her shirt fully open, her fingers tangling now with the hem, and he is simply staring at her. 

“To be clear,” Cormoran says, willing his mind to work as fast as his heart, which is pumping furiously and sending blood to everywhere but his brain, it feels like. “You’re here to seduce me?”

“That was the idea,” she says, “although I haven’t had much practice and it doesn’t seem to be working—”

“Beautiful girl,” he says, “it’s definitely working,” and then he is in motion, taking one, two, three strides to arrive in front of her, so that there is a bare centimeter separating them. 

“Is it?” she whispers, eyes fixed on his lips, and Cormoran doesn’t waste time even to nod before his he wraps one arm around her waist and slides his other hand into her loose hair, cradling her head and pulling her forward to crush their mouths together. 

The day was long and hard and ultimately fruitless, but all of that falls away as Cormoran tastes Robin’s mouth for the first time, inhales her like a drowning man’s first breath. Her lips part easily beneath his, and Cormoran flicks his tongue against hers, taking everything she is willing to give him— which seems to be everything, after all. 

Robin makes a noise into his mouth which sends a fresh rush of blood to Cormoran’s groin; she is like lithe fire in his arms, setting him ablaze entire. Her tongue is twining around his, and her arms come up to wrap around his neck, dragging him even closer, leaving no room for anything between them, no doubts, no air, nothing, nothing. 

One of her hands fists in his messy curls, and Cormoran groans, feeling it run through him like a live wire. Robin’s lips curl against his, and he has never tasted anything so sweet as her smile as she tugs at his hair again, experimentally. He scrapes his teeth along her bottom lip in reply, and her breathy moan back is reward enough.

“You are unbelievable,” he says, wrapping a fistful of her hair around his own hand and tugging gently to get her to lean her head to the side. Robin does, eyes closed, mouth open. Cormoran leans down to press his mouth to the place where her jaw meets her neck, tongue laving against her pulse. “You are— incredible. Incandescent.”

She shivers again, and Cormoran uses his free hand to push the collar of her shirt out of his way as he bends to lick and kiss his way down her neck, murmuring as he goes. 

“I cannot believe— this is a dream, I must be dreaming—”

“You’re awake,” Robin says, her voice thin. “Or else somehow I’ve entered your dreams—”

“I’m not ruling out the possibility,” Cormoran says, lips against her skin. His free hand is tugging at her shirt, and Robin pulls her hands from his shoulders to yank the offending garment off, giving him an unobstructed view of her, glorious in the golden lamplight, the rich green lace of her bra sharp and distinct against her smooth skin. 

“Did you wear this for me?” he asks, bent over now to kiss the tops of her breasts, his lips brushing the lace now, and his pushes it down just gently with his chin, wanting more without wanting to rush this, because he wants to draw it out, memorize every blessed moment.

Cormoran wants to— he cannot decide, he wants to do everything, now that he’s been given the chance. And it might be his only chance, and he cannot waste it. 

The way he is bent over her, Robin is looking down at him, and there is something unbearably erotic about the reversal of their usual positions, and Cormoran realizes then what he wants to do, more than anything. 

“Yes,” Robin is saying, biting her lip again, which Cormoran also wants to do; he adds it to his mental list, and refocuses on what she is saying, this impossible woman somehow here in his arms. 

“Did you—” Cormoran nibbles at her skin, unsure of how to word his query but wanting desperately to know the answer. 

It’s as though she can read his mind; Cormoran realizes again for what must be the hundredth time that Robin may be the person who knows him best in the world.

“I bought it for this,” she says, “just for this, for you.”

“Fuck,” Cormoran whispers, then, “will you get on the bed, please, love, I can’t do half the things I want to do from here.”

She is moving before he is done speaking, and he turns to watch her as she moves away from him; there is something bright in her eyes, now, as she looks at him, and a hectic flush to her cheeks; she looks well-kissed, and he wants to upgrade that to well-fucked, and it seems he will be given the chance to do so. 

Robin’s hand move to her slacks, and as she walks to the bed she undoes the clasps, letting the material slide down her legs to puddle on the floor. Once more Cormoran is reduced to staring; he has seen many women in various states of undress, and many of them were very beautiful, but this is _Robin_, and he is awestruck. 

Her legs are long and smooth; he thinks she must have shaved for this, for him, and the image of Robin in the tub, naked and thinking of him, doing things specifically _for_ him, is enough to get his already very excited cock throbbing once more. But it will have to wait, because Cormoran has plenty of things he wants to do before he’s done— and he will be done very quickly, if he's not careful. 

“Well?” Robin says, facing him and arching one brow in the way she has done a thousand times before, but this time is new, because this time she isn’t wearing any _clothing_.

He gestures, and she turns to get onto the bed, and he cannot look away.

Her panties are made of the same lace as her bra— and the back is sheer. 

Cormoran must make some sort of noise, because Robin looks over at him in surprise. 

“You’re—” he says, making a gesture that encompasses all of her. Robin, in the lamplight, on his hotel bed, in her dark green underthings which she bought just for him— 

“I’m?” she asks, and there is still, somehow, the shadow of self-consciousness, a hint of doubt. 

“Perfect,” he says fervently. Robin lights up, her swollen lips crooking up into a pleased little smile.

“And you’re overdressed,” she replies, and the moment the words have been spoken Cormoran is racing to pull open his buttons, tug at his belt buckle. 

There is something bewitching in the way her gaze is fixed on him as he shucks off his shirt, shoves down his slacks. Cormoran knows his body isn’t the sort of thing one sees carved of marble in museums, but he flatters himself sometimes that he’s managed to retain, or perhaps regain, some of the strength and and sculpt of his younger military years. Of course, he’s got several ugly scars, is covered in thick dark hair, and is missing a leg, but other than that. 

Robin is staring at him with eyes wide as the moon, as though absorbing him, studying him as intently as she might study fresh evidence. Cormoran absently runs a hand over his mop of hair, now sweaty and sticking to his forehead, and watches as Robin licks her lip as she stares at the bulge standing proudly in his boxers. 

He’s still wearing his socks, because in order to take them off he’ll have to take off his prosthesis, and it’s embarrassing to be fumbling with the buckles and straps while the lady sits on the bed and waits. But Robin is showing no signs of impatience, is merely watching him, mouth open, lips wet and rich and sweet— 

“Are you planning to stand there all night?” Robin asks, and perhaps she is not so sanguine as all that. “Because I was thinking this was going well, but if you’d rather stay over there—”

Cormoran is moving towards her at once, stopping her sentence with a kiss that roars straight to life. Robin’s clever tongue slips into his open mouth, tracing the back of his teeth, and Cormoran’s hand comes up to grasp at her hip and squeeze it firmly. She breathes a laugh, and Cormoran pulls away only far enough to slide his mouth along her cheek, to her jaw, sucking a little pink love-mark into the tender skin there. 

“Oh my god,” Robin moan, “please hurry up and take off the rest of it, I want— please—”

And now Cormoran is reaching down to the buckles of his prosthesis, because it’s awkward and inconvenient to remove, yes, but it’s now in the way of him getting his cock inside of Robin and so "awkward" no longer seems to matter at all. 

He pulls away, turning to sit on the bed so that he can lean down to get the damn thing off. Robin follows him, leaning across his shoulders to press a kiss to his neck, returning the favor by scraping her teeth along the skin there. He shudders, fingers fumbling the buckle he’s trying to undo. 

“You need to let me concentrate,” he says, his voice gone rough as gravel in his chest. He can feel Robin smiling against his skin.

“You’re a very capable man,” she says, lips brushing down along his neck as she speaks. He can feel her breasts against his arm, the lace a welcome itch. “I’m sure you can manage that while I’m over here.”

She nips at the place where his neck meets his shoulder, and he is unable to stop the way he shakes at that. She kisses the same spot, and Cormoran abandons his prosthesis to turn and recapture her mouth. 

“How can I think about anything,” he murmurs into the kiss, Robin’s hands coming up to fist into his hair. “How can I focus when I have you here— like this— in my bed—”

Robin gives the hair at the nape of his neck a tug, and Cormoran’s head tilts back. He’s still seated at the edge of the bed, leaning over to bend Robin backward, but with his head back Robin suddenly has the leverage; she holds him still, and he is entranced by her, by giving her this power over him. 

Robin tugs at him again and he moves, creating space for her to swing one leg over him so that she is straddling his lap. The discomfort of his stump is forgotten as she settles onto him, the sweet heat between her legs positioned so close to where he wants to be, the warm wet secret of her cunt just atop his straining cock. She rocks down against him, and the friction is nearly too much for him, even between the two thin layers of fabric that are all that separate them now. 

Robin is looking down at him, his neck bared to her, and this is a moment straight out of one of his more private dreams. 

Cormoran swallows, doesn’t resist Robin’s grip on him. “What do you want?” he asks, voice low.

“I don’t know,” she says, very focused. “You.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, because he wants to know, because he wants to give her whatever she wants, this lovely unbreakable woman who came to him tonight in scraps of lace to get what she wanted from him. 

“I want—” Robin says, then pauses, unsure. 

“Tell me,” Cormoran asks, begs. “Please, Robin, tell me what you want, I’ll do it, whatever you want me to do—”

She bites her lip, squares her shoulders almost imperceptibly. Cormoran is more aware of Robin’s body than usual, which is saying a lot, and he can see it, the way she decides to take what he is offering her, which is everything. 

“I want you,” she says, voice soft and rich and very slightly hesitant, “to give me an orgasm.”

Cormoran absorbs this statement, which is direct while still remaining vague, and it hits him something like a ton of bricks. 

“Yes,” he says before any actual thoughts manage to form. He already knows how he wants to do it: “Yes, please, let me— can I— I want to eat you out, can I, please—”

Robin looks at him bewildered, unsure. “You don’t— I didn’t mean that,” she says. “You don’t have to.”

Her grip on his hair has not slackened; he remains willingly under her control.

“But I want to,” he says, determined to make this good for her, to give her exactly what she has asked of him; if he gets his cock inside her this will all be over much too soon, and his refractory period isn’t what it used to be. He wants… he _wants._

“If you say so,” Robin says, and releases her hand from his hair; he takes this opportunity to finally pull down the green lace that has been teasing him, his mouth latching firmly to her pert pink nipple. She jolts, surprised, before a moan falls from her mouth; Cormoran is intent, and catalogues her responses to every flick of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth.

“Fuck,” Robin swears as Cormoran rolls her nipple between his tongue and teeth, and he is aglow with satisfaction as she squirms atop him, the pressure and pleasure of her movements against his cock nearly unbearable.

“Please,” Cormoran says again, leaning back from her now-ruddy breast to look up at her face. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glazed. “Please, Robin, won’t you let me eat you out?”

She nods, biting her lip once more, and he strains up to kiss her, achieving his own objective of biting her lip in a kiss that is messy and wet and scorching, Robin panting and grinding down on him. He can feel her wetness now, through her panties and his boxers; he is the one who has brought her to this point, and it is heady. 

Cormoran pulls back as Robin’s movement becomes more purposeful, rocking against him to the rhythm of their kiss, because he isn’t going to last if she doesn’t stop that. And besides, he has plans, and goals, and he is nothing if not goal-oriented. 

“Jesus,” he pants, “Robin, if you don’t stop that, this is going to be over far sooner than I’d like it to be.”

She pouts down at him, her lips lush and inviting, and Cormoran spares a thought to imagine what she might look like with those lips wrapped around his cock, and it is _very nearly_ over right there. 

“Fine,” she says, with one last purposeful roll of her hips against him, and Cormoran shivers at the sensation. Robin looks down at him as though pleased she’s brought him this close to pieces. 

“You’re incorrigible,” he says, mentally running through his financials in an attempt to bring his cock down from the precipice. 

Robin grins, teeth and triumph, and Cormoran cannot resist kissing her once more, then again for good measure. 

“Please, let me get you off,” he says into her mouth, “let me put my mouth on you, jesus, please,” and Robin nods.

“Yes, alright,” she says, rolling off of his lap, and Cormoran misses her immediately. “How do you— where should I—”

She is blushing, and stumbling, and Cormoran has a flash of insight. 

“He didn’t— did he?” Cormoran asks, and there is only one He lingering between them, and Robin looks away.

“He did, when I asked,” she says, but from the way she says it he knows that she learned not to ask. 

“More fool he,” Cormoran scoffs.

Robin’s mouth twists, as though she doesn’t want to say the thing she was going to say. 

“You’ll never have to ask me, love,” Cormoran says, wanting to banish Matthew’s spectre from this bed. “Come here.”

He twists back, flopping without grace to bring his head to the pillow, propped up on his elbows as he gestures for Robin to follow him. She hesitates. 

“How do I— I mean, do you want me to—” Robin makes a vague gesture that shows she comprehends what he’s asking from her, but she doesn’t seem to want to _do_ it. 

Again, the bitten lip.

“Come sit on my face, Robin,” Cormoran says, without embarrassment, nearly pleading. “I swear to god, I’ll make it so good for you—”

And now she is moving, hands and knees up the bed towards him, and he cannot look away from her, the way her body is glistening with a sheen of sweat in the lamplight. 

“Yes, love,” he says, hands reaching for her. “Will you— christ, you bought these for me,” Cormoran says, stroking the lace of her panties reverently. 

“I did,” Robin says, now looming above him where he lays on the pillow. “Do you like them?”

“There are not enough words in the english language for me to articulate how I feel about your under-things, Robin,” he replies, fixated on the place where the lace meets the curve of her hip, the way the skin has been ever-so-slightly pinched by the elastic of the waistband. “Can I— no, take them off for me, will you, so I don’t tear them off you.”

Robin’s face is blank for a moment, before she moves to slide the green lace down her legs. “What if I said you _could_ rip them off me?” she asks, as the smooth skin of her mons is revealed. “What if… I wanted you to?”

Cormoran has to close his eyes against that mental image. “I think we ought to revisit that subject on a later date,” he says hoarsely, “because it deserves revisiting, but I’d like to see you in these specific under-things again someday, so let’s save them.”

Robin tosses the green lace to the floor, looking at Cormoran, who is looking at her newly-bared skin with a fixed gaze. 

“Come here, Robin,” he says, reaching one hand out to touch her hip, pulling her towards him. “Let me make you feel good, love.”

And so she goes, crawling awkwardly to perch above him, aligning her wet, tender cunt with Cormoran’s mouth. She reaches out to hold onto the brass headboard for balance, and hesitates there, hovering above him.

“Thank you, god,” Cormoran murmurs, looking up at Robin. He slides his hands up her legs, starting at the ankle, the glide of his hands making them both shiver. He skims up to her hips, hands now raised well above his head, before pulling her down towards him. 

Robin shivers as Cormoran breathes onto the petal-pink lips of her cunt. He slides his right hand down the tender place where her leg meets her body, touch feather-light until he is stroking her, reveling in the wetness he finds there.

“The moment you say stop,” Cormoran says, “or anything less than good, I’ll stop. Alright?”

Robin nods, before realizing that he can’t really see her face.

“Yeah,” she breathes, “yeah, alright, now please—”

Cormoran doesn’t need to be asked twice; his left hand pulls her down onto him as his right hand parts her lips to reveal her cunt to his greedy mouth, and he dives in with abandon. Robin cries out, surprised, as Cormoran’s tongue licks broad strokes over her entrance, teasing the sensitive bud that nestles atop it. 

“Oh my god,” she says, fingers tightening on the headboard. “Cormoran, oh my god—”

He nods, as much as he can without breaking his rhythm. “Mm,” he hums into her, tongue sliding along the side of one of her inner lips, then the other, tracing the place he most desperately wants to go. His fingers dig into her soft wet skin just a bit, providing pressure without demanding or over-stimulating. Cormoran wants to wind her up, long and slow, and make it good for her; he wants to give Robin an orgasm that will make every other orgasm she’s ever had pale in comparison. He wants to ruin her for other men. 

He sets to it with patience and determination, trying different things— long slow strokes, little flicks, tracing shapes, anything he can think of— until he finds what makes Robin’s thighs quake, and then he does that, over and over again, interspersing it with little nudges to her clit that make her gasp. 

Above him, Robin is quivering and sweating, head leaning forward and hair hanging loose around her face, eyes screwed shut as the pleasure washes over her. 

“Yes,” she says, over and over, “yes, like that— yes— oh god, Cormoran, please—”

There is nothing, _nothing_ in the world, like hearing his name fall from Robin’s lips in ecstasy. Cormoran speeds up gradually, building his speed and pressure, tongue starting to tire but absolutely determined to not stop until Robin taps out. 

He licks up into her cunt over and over, savouring the way she tastes— not like fruit or flowers, but of salt and sweat and something tangy, like a woman, the most perfect woman he has ever been seduced by. 

Robin, all shyness forgotten, is grinding down onto his face, pressing down onto him with utter inhibition, and the only words out of her mouth now are “please, please, pleasepleaseplease” and Cormoran is going to please her, absolutely he is, but he wants one more thing from her, just one. 

“Yeah?” he asks, breaking his rhythm just long enough to ask. “Good?”

“Oh my god,” Robin nearly sobs, pleasure running through her body like little electric shocks. “Yes, god, please—”

“Please what?” Cormoran asks, wanting her to say it. 

“Make me cum,” Robin says, half a plea and half an order. “Oh god, Cormoran, please— I want to cum, make me cum—”

“_Yes,_” he groans, and gives her what he knows she needs, slipping two fingers into her dripping cunt, and applying his mouth directly to her clit. 

She shrieks, surprise as much as pleasure, before her thighs clamp down on Cormoran’s face and he’s nearly suffocated by the way she grinds down onto him, his fingers buried deep inside her quivering channel, rubbing where he knows her g-spot must be hiding. His tongue doesn’t stop in its ravishment of her clit, which he knows is sensitive; he doesn’t apply any teeth at all, just endless friction and pressure, and between one breath and the next she is crying out.

“Oh god— oh _god—_”

The lack of air matters less to him than the fact that Robin is shaking to pieces atop him, and he has given her this, he has done this to her, just as she’d told him to do. _Give me an orgasm,_ she’d said.

Cormoran teases her through her pleasure, gently licking at her sopping folds until she nudges him with one trembling knee. 

“Stop,” she gasps, “stop, no more, please, I can’t— no more.”

She sound wrung-out, blissed-out, and thoroughly fucked. Cormoran grins and turns his head to kiss her thigh. His mouth is tired and sore, but by god, it was worth it, for that. 

He pats her ass lightly, then her outer thigh, and she takes his message, unclenching her hands from the bedframe and rolling off of his face to flop spread-eagle on the bed. Cormoran doesn’t move, laying peacefully, his cock standing straight up in the air. He’s not sure he’s ever been this turned on in his life; there is nothing so good for the libido as giving a woman pleasure, he thinks. It is its own reward.

“Cormoran,” Robin says, some heartbeats later. Her chest is heaving, her voice still shaking a bit. “That was…”

“Good?” he asks, rolling onto his side to look at her, admiring the lush topography of her body. 

“That may be the world’s greatest understatement,” she replies, and he grins at her. She’s smiling, looking about as debauched as it’s possible to look. 

“I’m glad,” he says, voice warm and rich with his own desire. “You deserve good.”

Robin rolls up onto her own side, making her way back over to where Cormoran is laying. He’s naked but for his boxers, and she is still somehow wearing the green lace bra. 

“You deserve good, too,” she says, and there is still the undercurrent of her seduction between them; she came to this room to get what she wanted, and what she wanted was _Cormoran._

He wouldn’t believe it, except here is the proof right before him, her hair sticking to her skin with sweat and the imprint of where his left hand was digging into her ass showing clearly in the syrupy lamplight. 

“I have good,” he says. “Right here.” He nods towards her, and Robin smiles, glances away, lashes fluttering. 

He’s just spent the last however-long with her sitting on his face, and somehow she still blushes when he compliments her. The dichotomy of Robin is endless and fascinating. 

“Do you know what you do to me?” he asks her, voice gone deep and low in his chest. 

Robin is still making her sinuous way back to him; she glances at the tent of his boxers, bites her lip in that way that drives him mad. 

“I think I have an idea,” she says. She places one hand, not directly on him but on the bottom of his stomach, at the edge of his boxers, and Cormoran knows she can see how his cock jumps at the nearness of her touch. 

“Robin,” he says, her name a prayer in his mouth, and she nearly flings herself atop him, straddling his hips as their lips crash together once more. Her smooth bare pussy rubs against his boxers as she grinds down onto his hard length, and Cormoran cannot help the way his hips buck up into her, the way his hands come up to clutch at her hip, her shoulder. 

“Christ,” he swears as Robin’s hands come up to his face, fingernails raking through his beard. “I need you— Robin, jesus—”

“Yes,” she says back, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses to his collarbone. “I want you—” 

Cormoran is dizzy with it, Robin surrounding him, every sense overwhelmed by her. Her teeth scrape along the tendons in his neck, and he shudders. He can barely focus on the way her mouth works against the skin of his shoulder; he’s trying to remember what he needed to ask her. 

“Condom?” he asks. His Robin is never caught unprepared; if she came to seduce him, she’ll have brought one. He doesn’t have one, not since the one he kept in his wallet had torn open and become useless. 

“In my pocket,” she says, pulling back. She looks with satisfaction at the bloom of bruise she has left for him; it’s tucked where no one will see it unless he takes of his shirt, which he appreciates. Robin slides down and off of Cormoran, her hips a saunter and sway as she finds where her slacks are crumpled on the floor.

She pulls out a foil packet and holds it aloft between two fingers, looking at Cormoran on the bed with her stormy eyes. Cormoran props himself up on one elbow, hiding nothing, letting Robin look her fill. 

If she changes her mind about this now, if she walks away, it might break him, but he wouldn’t blame her; he’s no catch, despite the tricks he can do with his tongue. 

“If I say stop,” she says, still just looking.

“If you say anything but go, I stop,” he says at once. The idea of doing anything to Robin that she doesn’t want him to do— it can’t be borne. 

“I don’t like my neck being touched,” she says. “Kissed, maybe, but not touched.”

“Alright,” Cormoran agrees. From what he knows of her life, it only makes sense. He has no reason to question or pry right now; if she says not to touch her neck, he won’t.

“And don’t slap my ass,” she says, and this has a different tone to it, an exasperation. 

“Not your thing?” he asks, wondering if perhaps it had been Matthew’s thing and hating himself for wondering. He does love her ass, but if she doesn’t want it slapped, so be it; he’s still allowed to _touch_ it, and that’s more than he ever thought he’d get. Cormoran’s not one to count his blessings, because the math on them never balances right. Better to enjoy them as they come, without expectation. 

“No slapping, no pinching,” she says, firmly, and Cormoran loves this, the way she draws her boundaries steadfast and clear, fully in charge of her self and her life. It’s a new version of Robin, and it’s a sharper, clearer one; it's as though she’s been honed and shined.

“No slapping, no pinching,” he agrees, and extends one hand, open, supplicating, without demand. 

“Good,” she says, and walks back to the bed. She’s still wearing the bra, and Cormoran debates whether he should ask her to take it off. The shadow of her nipple decides him. 

As Robin clambers back onto the bed, swinging a leg over Cormoran’s hips to straddle him once more, he reaches up behind her to unhook the clasps. There are three rows of hooks, which is slightly more difficult than two, but the premise is the same; it is mere moments before his fingers have the trick of it and the band comes loose around her ribs.

She arches an eyebrow down at him as she shrugs the lace off, and the full glory of her breasts is something to behold. Cormoran pushes himself up onto one elbow so that he can envelop one pink nipple with his mouth, suckling on her generous breast.

Robin slides a hand into his hair, pulling at it gently, as Cormoran lavishes attention on her peak, rolling the nipple between his tongue and teeth to make her writhe and shiver. When she gasps, he turns his head to the other, making sure to give it the same care and attention as the first; Robin is riding his lap once more, her bare pussy hot and wet even through his boxers where it is pressed against his aching cock. 

“Get in me,” Robin says with a firm tug on his hair. Cormoran releases his mouth from her nipple, which is rosy and hard from his work. 

“What?” he asks, feigning having not heard her so that he can hear her say it once more, these words which he never expected Robin to say.

She looks down at him, holding his head still by his hair. She is flushed, but Cormoran thinks she may be blushing beneath that; it suffuses her chest, creeping down to her lovely nipples.

“Get your—” an infinitesimal pause “—cock inside me,” she says, looking him dead in the eye. “Now, Cormoran.”

“Fuck,” he half-groan, his already-hard cock somehow getting even harder at the sound of her demand, his name on her lips. 

“That’s the idea,” Robin replies, and he might love her, Cormoran thinks as she tugs his boxers down off his hips, moving down to his legs to tug them off his leg and prosthesis, throwing them to the floor. She’s kneeling now over his legs, looking down at his cock, which is standing proudly at attention, nearly purple.

Cormoran watches as Robin rips open the foil packet, squints at the condom, and reaches down to roll it onto him; he takes a deep, shuddering breath at the feeling of her hand on his cock. 

Robin grins at him, and there has never been anything as beautiful as her, sweat-shiny and flushed with orgasm, smiling at him as she touches his dick. 

“Jesus Christ,” he says, voice gravel in his throat. “You’re going to kill me.”

Robin moves forward until she is once more aligned above him, leaning forward to place one hand on his shoulder as she reaches down to notch the head of his cock into her entrance. 

“If you die,” she says as she does, “I’m taking over the business.”

“You can have it,” he says, hips straining upward, “if you’ll just _move_, please—”

And with that Robin slides down onto his cock, taking him entirely within her in one smooth motion that has them both shaking, her hands on his shoulders clutching tightly enough that Cormoran wonders if he’ll have two sets of half-moons there to remember this by.

“Fuck,” she breathes, “oh my god.”

Cormoran’s hands have come up to grasp at Robin’s hips, holding himself steady as he focuses on not spilling inside of her tight heat. It’s like coming home, being inside Robin; he’s lost entirely in the moment, in being here with her, in her. 

“Still with me?” she asks, looking down at him after a long moment. She squeezes her muscles around him, causing Cormoran to tense his grip on her hips even tighter. 

“To the end,” he says to her, gives a flex of his hips upwards that makes her pitch forward, leaning one hand on his hairy chest for balance as she gasps, as he does it again. 

They’re barely moving, but the friction, the wetness, the heat, it’s more than enough for pleasure as Cormoran rocks his hips up into Robin’s soaked channel, as she in turn rides him gently, pressing down on him with her hands, keeping him pinned against the mattress. He is more than content to give Robin all the power, all the leverage; she’s fucking him, and he’s simply along for the journey. 

Slowly Robin begins to pick up speed, pressing harder down against him, taking him as deeply as it is possible for him to go; he can feel his balls tightening already, and wills himself to keep it together until Robin gets what she wants. She moves faster, sliding up and snapping back down, building a rhythm that will not be denied. 

Cormoran’s hands slide back to rest on her ass, digging in to the generous curve of flesh there as he has always wanted to do; no slapping, no pinching, but supporting and clutching aren’t off the table, and she leans back into the touch, rolling her hips back before slamming them down against his once more. He is buried so deep in Robin’s sweet cunt that Cormoran thinks he might discover a few hidden secrets of the universe; she is panting, not saying anything but the occasional “oh god,” and he wants _more_, impossibly more. 

Their flesh meeting and their heaving breathing is the only sound, and Cormoran is almost afraid to say anything, to break the spell of Robin’s pleasure as she fucks him directly into the mattress. She doesn’t seem to need any guidance or encouragement, but Cormoran finds he cannot stay silent. 

“Oh, fuck,” he blurts out as Robin does another nearly-off-then-fully-back-on stroke, her thighs beginning to tremble with the work they are doing. 

Robin bites her lip, focused, saying nothing as she repeats the motion, both of them wound tighter than tight and Cormoran, at least, about to snap. 

“Jesus, fuck,” he says, then as Robin rocks forward, “can I touch you?”

She gives him a look that says, _are you an idiot?_

“You’re touching me now,” she says between breaths, hips rocking against his, as unceasing as the ocean’s waves.

“No,” he replies, “I mean, can I touch you?” One hand releases her ass to come around to where their bodies meet, illustrating his request. 

“Oh,” she says, then orders, “yes. Do that.”

His hand moves to find her clit, and she jolts before her pace quickens once more, his fingers moving in little circles above where he knows the tender bud hides. It might be too much to touch it directly right now, but the added pressure above it has her gasping, hips starting to lose the rhythm. 

“Oh my god,” she whispers, moving faster now, “oh my god, Cormoran—”

“That’s it,” he encourages her, moving his own hips now to help her keep the pace, keep doing what it is that makes her feel good. “That’s it, love, come on—”

“Oh god,” she whimpers, fingers clutching reflexively, eyes screwed shut. “Oh god, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Yeah,” Cormoran says, taking over the majority of the movement now as Robin’s hips jerk against his, the fluttering of her cunt around him telling him that she’s getting close, so close. “Come on, love, cum for me—”

He presses his fingers harder against her clit and uses his other hand to hold her steady as he slams up into her, and as he withdraws to do it again Robin’s hands slip, so that she is leaning down against his chest instead of sitting upright atop him, and his movement up into her hits a different part of her cunt and she is gone.

Robin’s orgasm is a work of art— her heads tips forward as she keens into his ear, one hand moving up to support her as her body trembles and shakes. Her cunt clamps down on him, and Cormoran would swear in a court of law that he can feel her heartbeat pounding against her chest where it is pressed against his chest. 

Given this, it is not surprising that it barely takes two more thrusts up into her for Cormoran to find his own release, the tension snapping into a wave of pleasure so sheer and all-encompassing that his world goes white. He pumps into Robin, the last convulsions of his orgasm a shaking, achy thing; he feels wrung out and thin, as though he’s been juiced. 

Robin lays atop him, just breathing, warm and damp against his ear. She’s a comforting weight, and one of her hands comes up to toy with the curls around his temple. He cannot hold back the smile that tucks up the corners of his mouth, and reaches down to place his hands at the small of Robin’s back, cradling the curve of her ass, holding her in place.

He will need to move, release her, deal with the condom; but not yet. In this moment, Cormoran savours the gift he has been given. 

They lay thus for a long minute, perhaps two, or five— it is safe and quiet there in the hotel room, and they are sated, and they are happy. 

Eventually, though, Cormoran must move, and before he does he lifts his head to kiss Robin’s shoulder. He looks at her, and she meets his eyes, blinking slowly. The feelings she brings to the forefront of his heart are unfamiliar, soft, melting things, and he doesn’t know what to do with them; the excellent sex they have just shared does not necessarily lead to confessions of emotions, and Cormoran will not bare his vulnerable hidden places without some form of security.

What he finds in Robin’s face is something like security, something like trust, something like home. But he still doesn’t say anything about it. 

“I need to deal with the condom, love,” he says instead, and she leans forward to press a gentle, closed-mouth kiss to his lips. 

“Alright,” Robin replies, rolling off of him. They both sigh as he slides out of her, disconnected once more. He pinches the condom shut against his skin, to keep it from spilling, as he turns. 

He doesn’t know how to ask if she will stay, if she will sleep next to him him tonight, if they will do this again. If she wants something from this more than what she has already gotten. 

He sits upright, and is reminded by the ache that he never removed his prosthesis. This may be in his favor, for once, though, because it means he doesn’t need to put it back on to get up, go to the bathroom, clean himself up. He slowly stands up before sliding the condom off and tying it shut. 

Cormoran looks back at Robin, who has curled up on her side, relaxed and comfortable. 

“I’m going to go clean myself up,” he says at last. “You’re welcome to stay. If you want.”

Robin rolls over onto her back, her arms coming up to push her hair out of her face. It shifts her breasts and gives him a truly lovely view of her body. 

“I ought to go take a shower,” she says, and Cormoran accepts that she is leaving and internalizes any feelings her might have about it in a heartbeat. In the next, his world changes again: “I’ll go do that and change, and then I could come back?”

His eyes snap up to look at her, and she is once more biting her lip. “Yeah,” Cormoran says, without hesitating. “You’re welcome to come back.”

“Alright,” she says, looking up at him from the bed. Her eyes are crinkled with a smile. “Your hair’s a mess.”

“I know,” he says. “I think you had something to do with that.”

Robin snorts softly. “I think it’s charming,” she says, and the feeling swelling in his chest, Cormoran doesn’t think about it at all. 

“Your flattery is useless,” he says, tone flippant so she'll know he isn’t serious. “I’m tapped out for the night.”

Robin sighs with satisfaction. “That’s fine by me,” she says. “I just— want to sleep next to you.”

Cormoran cannot stop the pleased half-smile that tugs at his lips at Robin’s admission; his face goes soft and his gaze goes tender. She smiles back, a touch hesitant, but growing more confident. 

“I’m going to shower,” he says. “My key’s on the table there, just take it with you. Let yourself back in when you’re ready.”

“I will,” Robin replies, and Cormoran turns away still smiling.


End file.
